In the Thicket of Things

The thicket is behind that huge clump of greenery behind Shane. Shhhh. Don't tell.

There I was in my hiding place, shaded from the insistent summer sun, far from the maddening crowd, sheltered from the noise, the buzz and hum, of life—traffic, lawn mowers, baths. It was all good. I could see the house but the house couldn’t see me. I could watch the goings on about the yard, but the goings on couldn’t watch me. It was my thicket, and I was happy there.

Then, Joan found me. “Juno, you’re all dirty,” she said, sounding disappointed.

So, what’s a little dirt? I’m a dog!

“Oh, Juno, now you need a bath.”

I had a feeling I was due.

“Okay, you stay in the dirt, and I’ll bathe Shane first,” she said, throwing me a figurative bone, for she knows how I relish a good hiding spot.

Of course, it’s not dirt; it’s earth. And as far as staying in it while Shane had his bath, that was fine by me. But, if a bath was indeed in the cards, well, I was going to roll in the earth, eat the earth, paw the earth, become the earth. Earth is purer than shampoo, cooler than air-conditioning, softer than the couch in the living room. So, I rolled around, dug little trenches, and licked the dark stuff that had given me such solace.

Eventually, the joy ended. I sat dutifully for the bath, and then we all walked down the block in the sunlight to dry us off. (Joan was a soggy mess and had a major backache from washing us.)

When we got back, she took bunches of cut vines and mint and soft leaves that smell like peanut butter and laid them over the earthen floor of my thicket. So, I still have my hiding place, but now it has a mint-peanut-butter floor. Hmmmmm. Rather interesting.

Wait! What’s this other smell? Dog shampoo? Oh, that’s me. Not to worry; it won’t last. Everything passes. This smell, too, shall pass, and I’ll be back in the thicket of things.

Best wishes, Juno